


Like Old Times

by TurtleTotem



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Grieving, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, ill-advised hookups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 21:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: Erik is grieving and traumatized. Letting things spark up between them again is a terrible idea. That doesn't mean it's not going to happen.Tumblr link.





	Like Old Times

Charles couldn’t say that it was just like old times. The chess set, startlingly, was the same—recovered from the rubble—and the liquid in their glasses was still scotch, but the library had been rebuilt, the books and furniture replaced; though it occupied the same space, it no longer looked much like the room where he and Erik had played chess twenty years ago. And he and Erik—they had certainly changed. Charles more noticeably, he supposed, what with the wheelchair and the bare head that he was still adjusting to.

“I like it,” Erik said, and Charles realized he was once again swiping a hand over his scalp.

“It’s cold,” Charles said irritably, and moved a pawn.

Erik’s glass was empty again. So was the bottle, and Erik had had significantly more of it than Charles. “You need a hat,” he said, his smile lazy and shoulders loose. “A cute knitted hat like… like Magda makes for…” The smile didn’t so much fade as transmute into a new expression, resembling a smile but blasting pain and loss into the room.

Charles swallowed, unsure how to respond. In the month or so since Apocalypse’s defeat, Erik had swung day by day between wild grief and grim, contained silence, just as heartbreaking in its way. With a student, Charles would have offered comfort and support, but Erik rejected any attempt at either. All Charles could do was just… be there, unflinching, unwavering in the face of Erik’s pain.

“You’re going to win this game,” Erik said after a long silence, the tears blinked successfully away. “You always win if I’m drinking.”

“Not my fault you can’t hold your liquor,” Charles said, an old joke between them. Though, truth be told, Charles too was feeling the consequences of indulgence—subtle, but enough that he was conscious of keeping his movements steady as he took another sip from his glass.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Erik said. “I’m glad there’s still  _someone_.”

“I’ll always be here.” Charles kept his voice low and certain, something solid for Erik to grasp.

“Don’t lie to me,” Erik said. “You can’t know. The slightest thing—a patch of ice, a broken stoplight, a cold that gets worse—a fool releasing an arrow without looking—” He dropped his glass and stood up. “You could be taken from me at any time.”

And before Charles had any hint of his intentions, he shoved Charles’s chair back from the table and kissed him.

It was a terrible idea; Charles knew that because he had already given far too much thought to the prospect. It was far, far too soon; Erik had been through a great deal of psychic stress from En Sabah Nur’s manipulations, his entire life had been uprooted and destroyed, and his wife had only been dead for a month. Rekindling a romantic relationship with Erik, no matter how much he loved him, would be downright unethical.

And knowing that did absolutely nothing to keep Charles from kissing him back.

It had been rather a long time for Charles, long enough for him to convince himself he didn’t even want it anymore. A lie, he saw now as his entire body drew itself up into the kiss, hands framing Erik’s face, mouth yielding helplessly to Erik’s. Erik shoved himself clumsily into the wheelchair with him, a knee on either side, and pulled him closer, craning Charles’s head back so he could press their bodies together. Charles made a sharp sound, breaking away from the kiss.

“Am I hurting you?” Erik asked, breathing hard.

“No.” Charles swallowed, forced himself to open his eyes. “No, you’re only hurting yourself. You’re drunk, Erik, or you’d know this wasn't—this isn't—”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll care in the morning.”

“It’s not morning yet,” Erik said, and kissed him again.

Maybe the part of the bottle Charles had consumed excused him for not being strong enough to refuse him. Or maybe it was Charles’s turn to be forgiven for something inexcusable.

They’d figure it out in the morning.


End file.
